Master and Slave Retribution
by Sweet Sociopath
Summary: Upon popular request, 'Master and Slave; Retribution' is a follow on from Master and Slave. It's dirty, filthy, gritty, vicious, power-hungry, blood curdling and dark, for all my insane Bellatrix lovers. Rated 'M' for sex, drugs, alcohol abuse, horror and morbidity. Not for the light-hearted! This time, we're taking 'Psychopath' to a whole other level...
1. Chapter 1

**It's back. Upon popular request, 'Master and Slave; Retribution' is a follow on from Master and Slave. It's dirty, it's filthy, and it's gritty, vicious, power-hungry, blood curdling and dark, for all my **_**insane **_**Bellatrix lovers.  
Bellatrix, in Master and Slave went into prison age 22 and has only spent 10 years there (for the sake of writing more). Therefore she is 32 now she has escaped –this is the way my story works, don't like? Don't read.  
Oh, and this time, we're taking 'psychopath' to a whole other level, enjoy, read and review...**

Her dream had come true. She was free. Free at last. Hungry, thirsty, desperate and craving him. She wanted him, needed him. Her incessant need had been fuelled by the mark on her wrist, his mark. His power and control. The air was cold, sharp, it burnt her throat and lungs but she breathed it deeper, harder into her corpse of a body, having only learnt to love pain.  
Her heart was hammering in her chest, her deteriorated body wrung back as she let out a cold, spine-chilling laugh of pure madness, at last, Bellatrix Lestrange was free, and with her, she bought a vengeance of insanity and horror.


	2. Chapter 2

She submerged herself in the silvery liquid once more, right down as her sister scrubbed hard at her legs, cleaning them of the dirt. Unicorn's blood; said to rejuvenate even the most horrifying of accidents. Bellatrix sat up in the hot blood, the silvery liquid stuck to her suddenly smooth and soft skin. Narcissa didn't say a word to her eldest sister. She was concentrating on getting her clean and looking good whereas Bellatrix was more interested in getting to her master.  
"Are you _quite _done?" she hissed at her younger sister who was rubbing the sponge once more along Bellatrix's now wet, smooth and long legs.  
"It took me three hours to fill this bath; the least you could do is let me have my way!" Narcissa cut in shrilly, making Bellatrix roll her eyes. Soaking wet and covered in the silvery liquid, Bellatrix looked down at her hands. Just hours ago, she had looked at her skeletal hands, now she was looking at slender –albeit thin, fingers, and though they were still long, her now smooth nails.

Finally, Narcissa was done. She looked at herself after her hair had dried, incredible, what the blood of the unicorn could do. She had been filthy before the bath, her face had looked hollow and gaunt, and her hair tangled and thin, but now, she almost looked herself again. Her lips were once more full, smooth and dark coloured, her skin a smooth and soft glow, her hair was wavy and full, her eyes dark still but not as cold, and though the blood couldn't restore her corpse-like body completely and she was a little on the unfit for anything strenuous side, she'd now got her slender but well curved figure back.

The blood was cooling when she was finally let out, her husband was next. Rodolphus had of course, gone in with her, and was in no mood to be talked to. Easily angered, the man was shouting hoarsely at Lucius for clearly doing something he shouldn't have.  
"Useless _prat!" _she heard him bellow, before slamming the door behind him. His temper was high, his blood boiling, and he too almost looked himself again. She watched him as he walked in, now sitting at the end of the bed, wrapped in towels, her hair dripping with the silver blood. She watched him, he said nothing to her, clearly he'd already bathed, he was looking nice, shaven, and his hair was combed back and cut to its normal length. But what was normal? She didn't know any more. He said nothing to her but she watched him. She was scared to sleep, but she knew she had no choice.  
He lay back, she again said nothing, but they remained in silence. The bed felt almost alien to the touch, so soft and warm, it made her skin come up in goose-flesh as she joined him after she had dried herself off completely.

They lay facing one another for hours, awake though exhausted.  
"I want to go home." She said finally, breaking the silence of their bedroom.  
His hand placed lightly on her waist, before he pulled her closer, their contact was something they had in Azkaban, they shared a cell, watched each other rot, and in that way she loved him, he'd seen her through the most difficult point of her life and she had seen him. They were still young together in their minds, still teenagers fooling around and still the best friends who loved one another like no other.  
"Then let's leave," he said, releasing his hold when she sat up, "We don't have to wait until morning. Let's leave."  
She said nothing, but his sitting –and letting out the slightest of groans as he did so, was enough to tell her he was being serious. They had no clothes to wear; Narcissa had given Bellatrix something of hers, and Rodolphus had something of Lucius'.

They were quick to dress, desperate to get out, desperate to leave. They needed to be themselves, not what they were sought out to be.  
Rodolphus was first to offer his hand to his wife, holding it out for her to take.  
"Home. Our home." He murmured as she took his hand, his fingers gripping her tightly.

Their manor looked cold, dark and destroyed. As they walked in, they found no presence. The ministry had raided the house, everything was wrecked. They stood in the parlour, not quite getting the strength to let go of one another yet.  
A breath of a curse and Rodolphus had dropped his wife's hand. He sighed lowly, how they got in, he had no idea. They had no wands, both of them were too weak to use wandless magic, and instead, they made their way up to their bedroom. The route, they knew, remembered well. The manor was cold, freezing almost, and both of them knew it wasn't safe. Perhaps something had come to alert the ministry. They must have known they would try, surely.

Digging through their things, they found old wands that had been locked away for years. Rodolphus had safely stored them away. It hadn't taken long before their home was protected, it hadn't taken long to protect, the darkest magic they knew and they remembered.  
Exhausted by the time they were done, both dropped onto the large marble staircase, they were too withered to try anything else tonight.  
"Perhaps we should sleep." Rodolphus said breathlessly, picking up the dropped wand once more.  
"Not yet," Bellatrix murmured, her eyes dropping slightly though she mentally forced herself to remain awake by standing once more, "I want the house back to normal."  
Picking up a broken picture and flicking his wand lightly at it, Rodolphus placed the picture –which happened to be their wedding picture, back on the surface and stood, "You'll exhaust yourself."  
She turned, a silent notion that she didn't care made her husband pause and nod, he understood, of course he did because he felt the same, she was scared to sleep.  
Walking around the house, they silently murmured spells, fixing everything that needed to be fixed and changing everything back to normal once more, until the house was warm with light and the fireplace burning and crackling hotly in their living and dining room. The kitchen clean, neither of them were hardly able to stand, yet they didn't complain. The manor was lit and it hurt their eyes. Neither had seen a fire in ten years. The warmth and glow of it was mesmerising. Sitting back on the leather seats but then sinking to the floor in their large living room on the rug, Bellatrix watched the fire, her clothes had changed using a simple spell, and she was now in her silk emerald green night gown, Rodolphus in simple trousers and a loose shirt.

They sat together for a long time, just watching the fire; she played absentmindedly with his hand. Her fingers curled into his, twisting around his fingers lightly, sometimes her nails would dig in, but he didn't mind. It wasn't a long time before they went to bed, they were starving, but they had learnt to deal with that. Everything else could be sorted in the morning, but now, the nightmares were to come.


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm sorry this is so delayed. Appears I don't have time for play anymore!  
Those who used to roleplay with me know I'm no longer role-playing (Bellatriix Maneater Black) and I've cut off all forms of internet 'time wasting' including (regrettably) my tumblr, my instagram and my KIK (for all of those who had any of those –I am informing you now), but writing is something I enjoy and I will continue it.  
The next few chapters are going to be odd and not quite to the original story. This is my interpretation, as we all know. Also, it may appear that I am in fact glorifying Bellatrix's time in prison –yes, I am almost, but that is because she is a warrior and thrives on agony and pain, in fact she likes it so much that she literally revels in the brutalisation of her master's hand... As we will see here. Enjoy.**

She had slept awfully. Her head was resting on his leg once more, the old comfort that she would never lose. The Dark Lord stroked her hair back, slowly, letting it slip through his long, bony fingers. He looked different, but she was never changed, only more of a weapon now. He'd ruined his black rose, destroyed her and corrupted her beyond repair; he revelled in the glory of his creation. He had made a warrior, a psychopath. She could no longer feel, except towards him. Her adoration for him was stronger than ever.

Her lips were parted slightly; she had missed him too much. Her body ached; she needed him, desperate and craving. His fingers were slow through her hair, repetitive, just as he used to.  
"Ten years, my Bella, and you remain ever faithful." He murmured, allowing her to tilt her head slightly to look up at him.  
His sins had decayed him; tearing parts of his soul from the body it was in had ruined him completely. His body was still the same underneath, slim but muscular, well structured, but his sharp, snake like face from being damaged for years was something new. The once sharp blue eyes were now blood red. He looked demonic almost, the devil in his true form.  
"Of course, my Lord," she answered him quietly; her hands were in her lap but she raised her left arm as she sat on her heels to show the burning skull and snake tattoo on her wrist before slipping her fingers to his and murmuring, "Forever your slave."  
He couldn't help but smile, her devotion was unlike any others, she loved him more and more with every passing moment she had spent in prison, decaying –for him. He didn't mind as she toyed with his hand slightly, his attitude towards her submission never changing once. She worshipped his hands, the warmth they brought as he rested his hand on her head, or fell hard onto her cheek. She held his one hand with both of hers, resting her cheek on his palm before she looked up at him. He moved his finger numbly to her lip, to which she bit lightly before tilting her head to drag the same finger down her neck.

"You will be rewarded for all you have done for this cause. Come, girl." He said finally, removing his hand from her hair and instead moving to stand up. She remained on her knees for only a moment longer before she stood and followed him.  
'_Girl' _–she was hardly that any more.  
"Master." she said almost inaudibly.  
He turned and looked at her as if to ask her what she wanted, though he remained silent. She said nothing and his lips pursed only the slightest bit to her. He sighed as she leant back to the wall, but was quick to cover her body with his own.  
"You, girl-"  
"I'm not a little girl anymore." She said quickly though without meaning to.  
"Are you a woman?" he sneered, chuckling darkly as he gripped her wrists.  
She flinched, her voice suddenly going quiet and sweet, "Forgive me, master."  
"You've lost your talent," He said matter-of-factly, "What a shame."  
"My Lord?" she asked, looking up at him as he pressed her into the wall hard enough to make her whimper, though she refused to let out a sound.  
"You no longer interest me, Bellatrix. You are dismissed."  
He uncovered her body, stepping aside and folding his hands silently behind him.  
"I no longer..." the words didn't even form before her attitude and emotion changed hardly a second later, "No longer _interest you!"_  
He said nothing, watched as she unfolded in front of him.  
"Interest? _INTEREST! _Is that what you call it?!" she shrieked, "I sold my _soul _to you and I no longer _interest _you!? That's all I'll _ever _be to you, isn't it?! An object to either enjoy or dispose of, I don't care, you don't give a damn that I am your _best. I AM YOUR BEST!"  
_His eyes never left her, he let her, watched her as she fumed, ready to attack almost.  
"But of course, why would you care?! You... you... _heartless_, _cruel... MONSTER!" _she shrieked as completely lost her temper, forgetting where she was, all she saw was red, and all she heard was '_you no longer interest me'_ the words resounding in her head. She felt weak, her body was failing her slowly, she wasn't strong enough for this, she didn't care less as she continued,_ "_You ruined my _life! I didn't need this. _10 years I _rot _for you, _TEN YEARS_, and now I no longer '_interest'_ you!"  
She fell to her knees, suddenly and quietly, her shrieks coming to a halt and instead replacing with a whimper as tears she hadn't shed for years sprang into her eyes and fell down her porcelain cheeks. "I'm sorry, _I'm sorry." _She cried suddenly, clinging to him, "I want to be your best. I need your approval, please master, _please."  
_Her change was something he hadn't seen before, and somewhat interesting to him through surprise, the anger and emotional change to tears, he truly had broken her.  
She whimpered and mewed like a kitten, her sighs soft but slightly broken as she pled, falling to sit at his feet, the young woman that was once so in control now so broken and hurt.  
His chuckles were dark and haunting, and she looked up at him as she sniffled pathetically, like a little girl.  
"Does a woman act like this?" he asked, looking down at her, his face void of all emotion.  
"No." She answered, wiping her tears.  
"Then you are still a girl."  
"Yes master." She answered, defeated.  
"However, in many ways, you were never a girl, were you my, my Bella?"  
She let go of his leg, but remained on the floor, looking up at him. The mascara she had applied had run down her cheeks slightly through the tears she had shed, her tears hungered him.  
"Come with me." He said simply as he left her on the floor, without so much as looking at her again and walking up the stairs and to what she remembered as the passage to his room, where he had taken her only once before. She had acted the same last time, the stubborn, angry, bitch of a woman who couldn't contain herself. She was dropped where she had been before, on the floor, at his feet, watching him walk away from her. He was as if death itself was undone, there was no more dreaming like a girl in love, instead she obeyed. Followed him like the obedient little girl who wanted him more than anything, wanted his power and strength, the love he could never give her. She was quick to her feet, unstable but she managed to stand –stupidly enough she had agreed when her sister had insisted she learnt how to walk in heels again. She followed him into the darkness of his room, to let him feed on her tortured soul and mind.


End file.
